Forgive and Forget
by springburn
Summary: @Petersgal sent me a prompt..."Ok a prompt,again if this is too depressing then ill shut up,guess its the mood im in so here goes..ollie,yep him again,is in hospital with no one around him and he is not coming home and he wants to see malcolm to ask for forgiveness for his part in the enquiry,up to you if malcolm forgives or not..so ill leave this with you.." This is the result...


FORGIVE AND FORGET.

Malcolm and Sam were hectically busy. As usual.  
Three small children, their lives a constant whirlwind.  
He was busier now than he ever was in his political life.  
Malcolm still did occasional consultancy work, but it was really to keep his hand in.  
He didn't need to do it.  
His second book had just been published. Not memoirs this time, but a political thriller.  
He'd not thought himself capable of such stuff, but there it was, pouring out of him, his writing style staccato, spare...infinitely readable.  
At least that's what the back page blurb said.  
Of course, it launched him into another round of book signings, interviews and the like...  
Which took him away from home, away from his wife and family.  
The boys were at nursery, Grace at a toddler group. Sam couldn't accompany him. It was impossible.  
Being married and coming late to fatherhood, had been the making of Malcolm Tucker.  
The life he had now was so far removed from his previous existence, he sometimes found it hard to believe.  
He hated being away from them for long. He missed Sam most of all. His Sam. So unflappable, so calm, always able to sooth him. She was his rock, but he was hers.  
It was just the way it was.  
So he was relieved to walk in through his front door, dumping his wheelie suitcase, having been in Scotland for four days.  
He'd lunched, pressed the flesh, smiled and been as benign as he could muster.  
His sister and brother-in-law, nephew and niece, had managed to catch up with him briefly, but now he was home.

The boys hurtled down the hallway, flinging themselves at his legs...  
"DADDY!"  
Sam came through, looking radiant, Grace on her hip.  
He hugged his boys, and dipped his head to kiss his daughter, as Sam lowered her onto the floor to toddle away.  
Sam threaded her arms around his middle, drawing him in, her face against his chest.  
The smell of her hair, the faint perfume she wore, the feel of her...he hummed with pleasure.  
"God, I've missed you!"  
They kissed; tender, passionate, a married couple who were still very much in love.  
He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the counter.  
He noticed she looked a little solemn.  
"Something up?" He asked.  
"I've got some news." She replied, reluctantly.  
"You're not...?"  
"No, idiot, nothing like that!"  
He breathed a sigh of relief.  
"Thank fuck..."  
"No, I've had a call from Glenn. Ollie Reeder's not well, he's in hospital."  
"Something terminal I hope..."  
Sam grimaced, and her face changed, she looked as if she were about to cry...  
"Shit, it isn't is it? Fuck, I didn't mean it, it was a joke."  
"He's really poorly, Malc...they don't think he's going to make it."  
"Christ! Really...but he's not forty...what's wrong with him?"  
"Some form of cancer, it's in his pancreas."  
"Fuck. That's bad."  
"The thing is...he's asked to see you Malc..."  
"Asked to see me? What for?"  
"I'm not sure, Glenn wouldn't say, just that Ollie had asked to see you. Alone."  
"Fucking hell, Sam...what can he possibly have to say to me, after all that's gone on?"  
"I don't know Malcolm. But I really think you should go."  
"Shit. Yeah, I guess I'll have to." He blew air out through his mouth.

Malcolm was not fond of hospitals.  
His own experience of them bought a sour taste to his mouth.  
A memory hit him...visiting Ollie after his appendectomy...God, it seemed like a lifetime ago, just before all the shit hit the fan...just before his life changed utterly and completely.  
He swallowed thickly.  
Hands under the hand sanitizer. Pushing open the heavy door to the side room.  
Ollie lay, propped on pillows. Tubes. Wires. Machinery...blip...blip...blip.  
Shit.  
He still looked like a fucking Quentin Blake illustration.  
His eyes opened slowly as Malcolm entered.  
"You look fucking terrible!"  
"Thanks Malcolm!"  
Pulling up a chair, he sat down by the bedside.  
Fuck, there was nothing of him, skin and bone. He'd never exactly been fat, just a long streak of piss really. But now...  
He was surprised there'd been no one else there. No cards, no flowers...were you allowed flowers now?  
"Didn't bring anything...didn't know what you'd be able to have." He ventured.  
"I didn't expect you to bring anything."  
Ollie shifted slightly in the bed, and winced.  
Malcolm stood, as if to offer help then thought better of it.  
"Can I call someone?"  
"No, no, I'm fine, just changing position, I can manage."  
"I said that trying doing my job would fuck you up the arse...I guess it has."  
"Yeah, guess you're right. Didn't see this one coming though."  
"Fuck me, Ollie, it nearly killed me too, got out just in time, you did me a fucking favour!"  
"That's what I wanted to see you about..." He began.  
"Look, Oliver, let's get this clear shall we? I know what you did, I know you acted like a cunt. I acted like one too, on plenty of occasions. But that's all water under the bridge now, yeah?  
It's gone. It's over. Let it go, okay."  
"Can't forgive myself though. I fucking tried to finish you. Good and proper. And for what? Fuck knows. I don't. I just wanted to say that to you. To your face. Tell you how sorry I am."  
"Ollie, listen to me. What you did was part of the job. It went with the territory. Everyone shafted everyone else. All of us on the greasy pole...trying to get to the top. That's the way it was. Is.  
You can't be blamed for that."  
"I'm still sorry though Malcolm. Truly."  
"Yeah, well...you're forgiven. Now shut the fuck up about it, for Christ's sake! Talk about something else."  
"How's your family?"  
"Noisy, whiny, grizzly, dirty, crazy...wonderful, adorable and fantastic...not necessarily in that order!"  
Ollie laughed, then grimaced in pain.  
"And Sam?"  
"Sam's just...Sam...what can I say? She's just...everything."  
He looked down at his hands, and suddenly felt rather emotional.  
"Where's the posh bitch?" He said, glancing up again.  
"Emma? Oh, I don't know...haven't seen her in quite a while."  
"But I thought you two...?"  
"Turns out she doesn't do illness!"  
Malcolm was silent.  
Fuck it.  
He didn't have a soul.  
Poor sad fucker.  
Where were all the Oxbridge fraternity? His family?  
"I guess you need the peace and quiet anyway." He said, lamely.  
Shit. He didn't know what to say.  
He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Ollie seemed to sense his uneasiness.  
"Time you fucked off now, Malcolm. I'm tired. It'll be time for my meds soon. I get morphine in here you know...makes you feel like you're floating!"  
Malcolm rose to his feet. Relief on his face.  
"Remember what I said Ollie. It's over. It doesn't matter anymore. Don't dwell on it okay?"  
"Forgive and forget eh? Thanks Malcolm. You're a far better man than I'll ever be. Shame I didn't see it until it was too late."  
"Stupid tosser. That's not you talking it's the bloody drugs! You rest now yeah? I'll come and see you again."  
"No, Malcolm. Don't do that. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Now I've seen you I feel better. No need to repeat the experience!"  
Malcolm reached out and touched his thin arm, squeezing slightly.  
"See ya, yeah?"  
Ollie smiled.  
"Yeah."

Malcolm Tucker walked away from the hospital with a heavy step, heading into the town.  
He passed the Cathedral. Lapsed Catholic, so far lapsed, he didn't even remember the last time he was inside a church.  
Former altar-boy...way back when. That was a fucking joke.  
Did he even believe in God? He wasn't sure he did.  
But he went inside.  
He lit a candle.  
Sat in a pew for five minutes.  
Thanked God, or someone, for everything he had.  
Then went home to his wife and kids.


End file.
